Answers
by Amanita Jackson
Summary: Rambling postwar AU fic, Blaise's POV in prison. No dementors cos I forgot to put 'em in. Implied BlaiseTheodore and onesided BlaiseRon. Yeah, crap story, I know. This plot bunny was gnawing at my ankle until I wrote it, so R&R.


Hmmm...I'm not entirely satisfied with this...I mean, there's no closure because I'm planning something for the next chapter and I promise that there will be a next chapter but my internet is spazzy so no promises on when...and yes, I am working on my other stuff but inventing last-minute history and english essays eats up time, energy and inspiration. Never fear, the chaptera for other fics are arriving on my computer slowly but surely.

So yeah. I was playing around with styles with this fic, tell me what you think. And I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but my fics (the good ones, anyway...) seem to be either very light and humourous or very darkish odd and rambling...slightly like the Portrait of Dorian Gray, which I recently read and LOVED. Rambling narrations rock n roll, I must say. ANywho, yeah, a couple of ramble-y stuff in the works and by next weekend I should have another chapter of my brothers grimm story, the troy story, and possibly my seamus story up and running. Enough drivel, and on with the rambling! Enjoy.

Oh, this is porbable AU and postwar...I usually loathe poatwar stories but I've read some good ones lately and wanted to try my hand...

* * *

I am in a dark place. A dark place. It was not always dark, no, but it got dark when the sun went down. I'm under the sky and I'm under the roof and I'm under the earth. In a dungeon.

There are people beside me and around me, in separate cells of iron so no one can magic them out. They're quiet.

That one over there, she called me a pretty one and asked if I was lost. I told her, pretty? Am I pretty? Yes and no. Am I lost, I repeated. Yes, I told her. Yes I am lost. Not lost as she is lost, for I am lost in body and she is lost in mind. But we are the lost just the same for neither of us can find a way out.

She asked who brought me down here, and I told her he did. Who, she asked, confused. Harry or Tom, she pressed me. I shrugged and asked her the difference, for both torture, both send shadows to maim and rape and mutilate and kill. No, not kill, for Vincent was still alive when they left him. What is the difference these days between evil done in the name of good and good done in the name of evil? For they all must be good because, because a good man will show you no mercy and no mercy is shown to the women and children and elderly and the young men who fight with fire in their eyes.

I asked her if it was always like this when the sun went down, with the screams coming through the floorboards and the air from the vents laced with the sickly sweet smell of blood and the stench of rotting flesh

She laughed then and did not speak for a while and I heard only screams in the night from the places below.

When she spoke again, she asked, can you see the sky? Did you watch the sun sink below the horizon?

I replied that yes, there was a window. An inverted window with a hole on the outside, like one might see on a basement from the street. It isn't much but yes, yes I can see the sky. I did watch the sunset because I don't know when I'll see another. Besides, I told her bitterly, It's not as if there was anything else to watch.

Have they hurt you, pretty boy? She asked me then. For you are a boy, are you not, she added.

Yes I am a boy, I told her, And no, they have not hurt me. She asked how I came here.

I don't remember, I don't remember, I just remember fire and smoke and coughing and retching when I woke, my lungs still feeling black. They had sat me in a chair and shone a light in my eyes and asked me questions. I wouldn't speak, I couldn't speak, I was still too faint. I could barely hear what they were saying. Soon they must have realised this, but they were kind and, and placed me here…Ron, that's who brought me…he half-carried me, was much more gentle than I would have thought…

Ron was kind, kinder than anyone else here…he said that… he said many things but he said that I should not be treated so, not you my Blaise my pretty Blaise but then I coughed and my whole body shook and he stopped murmuring nothing in my ear, soothing nothings he was whispering and I wish he would do so again

I am nothing anymore, simply a body in this cell…although it is not as bad as it might be, and I can see the sky.

Did Ron put you in here, she asked hungrily, eager for a story. Was he ordered to put you in the ever-dark, in the deep-underground with the screams and the blood and the sounds of soft sobs and wails? She waited.

Yes, he was supposed to put me there, I told her, And yet he wasn't; they didn't really care where he put me and indeed he paused at the stairs and they took their leave, telling him to stick me in a cell of my own so I wouldn't be too damaged before they came for me again. But he waited until they left and pulled me closer and replaced his hold with his other hand and slipped the first around my waist and helped me again.

She coughed, a hacking sound that tore from her throat and then she slept. I decided to watch the stars in the sky until she awoke, for I found that I liked to talk to her, liked her questions and madness, the laughter that struck when there should have been tears or broken sobbing. She was not like the wailing from below; she thought everything, even this, a grand amusing game and perhaps she was right and sane and I was the mad one and so was the rest of the world.

I slept.

She woke me when the sky was barely light and the sun was nearing the ridge of the world. I wasn't sure if it was nearly night or nearly day and she would not tell me but laughed when I asked. She reached through the bars and patted my arm and told me it would all be the same in a week and not to worry, for she had more questions if I still wished to talk.

She bade me crawl or walk or shuffle to the door, whichever I could manage, and get the water and food that lay there. I was able to walk and returned with the water and the food. She told me she disliked the meat sometimes because they made it from the ones that couldn't scream anymore but this meat was all right so I should eat it and keep my strength up.

When I had eaten some, she asked me more questions. Why are you here, she asked. What happened before the fire, the smoke, the screams and the coughing, the retching as you woke, she asked.

I was looking for Theodore, I told her, Theodore's missing, Theodore oughtn't be missing because he's _my_ Theodore and no one can harm him but me and I want him I want him but he's missing and _I can't find him_ and I was looking and _he is not dead._

She nodded in the near-darkness and considered this for a time. I finished the meat and drank more water.

Suddenly she asked me, Who would you rather, Ron or Theodore?

Theodore is mine, mine, _mine_ and no one else can touch him, for he is mine. All mine, I growled. How could she ask such a question?

Theodore, then, she said with a grin in her voice.

Theodore. Mine, I told her.

Was he your lover, she asked me, amused.

_Is_, I told her firmly. _Is_ mine. Theodore _is_ mine.

Do you love him? Does he love you, she wanted to know.

He loves me, I know, I assured her, He tells me all the time. I brushed it off, I admitted, But one day he didn't come home so I went out looking but I couldn't find him and I'm scared that I'll smell his blood or hear his beautiful voice scream.

So you love him, then, she told me and sounded like Mother did when she was asking what had happened at Draco's party. She already knew and wanted to hear anyway.

I didn't answer then, and I didn't answer the crazed woman in the other cell.

She tried again, pressing on. Do you know whether or not you love him, she asked.

No, I said firmly.

Her voice held the grin again. You do not know or you do not love him?

I folded my arms and did not answer.

Keep your secrets then, my pretty one, my darling boy, she said affectionately. Would you accept Ron as a lover, I wonder, she mused aloud in my direction.

Ron is not mine, I reminded her. I may be Ron's but I want my Theodore and

Do you want to be Ron's, she interrupted.

I…don't know, I told her. I am not sure.

She chuckled but I could not see the joke. She asked, If Ron wanted you to be his, would you be his?

If I could get my Theodore back, I decided. I have to find Theodore, I told her; she had to understand. He isn't safe, because safe is with me.

Would you do anything for Theodore, she wondered. Would you die for Theodore?

That's selfish, it is, I scolded her, But I wouldn't die for Theodore because that's selfish and he'd have to wait. I think.

You think? What do you mean, she asked with a laugh. Do you mean that he'd commit suicide if you were to die first? She seemed to find this extremely funny.

No, no, no…I don't know if you have to wait after, for people who haven't come along yet. Do you, I asked her, but she ignored me.

If one of you has to die, which one should die first, she demanded.

Ron, I answered. What an easy question.

She giggled. You love Ron?

No, I assure her, disgusted. He'd die for me though, I think. I don't really care but if one of us has to die better him than Theodore. I don't want Theodore to die.

But if you'll meet after, what are you worried about, she reminded me.

That we won't meet after, I admitted. I hope we do, but I also hoped that I would be let go, that I wouldn't be here in the first place, that Theodore would come back when the sun went down.

She nodded again. She asked me, What will happen if Theodore dies?

But Theodore won't, I told her, shocked. Will he, won't he, I don't know. You mean what if Theodore dies in front of me, because they would and might do that to me if they find out.

Would you turn to Ron then, she wonders.

No, no, no! Why are you asking me this, I whimper.

Because I believe you will need to hear these answers at some point, my poor dear darling boy, she replied.

Then she slept, and I was left to watch the sky. The sun came out soon and I watched the shadows in their slow dance all the day long. When the sun shone into the cell, I looked around. I walked around and explored the iron cage.

The woman woke up again, and strolled over to the bars as if she were Draco. She moved like she knew what she was doing; she walked like she knew where she was going. She laughs when the others shout and swear and threaten, for we are all bound by the iron and she just laughs and goes on with her life, she says. No point in worrying, she assures me, For it will all work out somehow.

What if we die here, you stupid bitch? Someone shouted at her once. She smiled and giggled and blew the wretched woman a kiss and strolled over. She reached through the bars and stroked the woman's lank, brittle hair and told her that she had said it would all work out, not that it would all work out _well_. The other woman snarled and bit and the mad one just left her hand in the cage, saying, Don't worry dear, go right ahead if it will make you feel better. The woman left her alone after that because there was no point in hurting someone if they didn't mind.

I slept again.

After I woke and ate and drank, they came for me. The mad woman who spoke so kindly and asked me questions sat and waved at me. Have fun, my dear boy, have fun, she called cheerfully. She waggled her fingers and called out, Don't forget to remember so you can bring me stories, my dear! Oh, how I do love your stories, she sighed happily. Then she drew in the dust and the dirt on the floor, and I couldn't see anything else because I was being hauled out the doorway and the light was so bright that it hurt almost as much as when Theodore didn't come back.

But not quite.


End file.
